Dark Illusions
by Ranger Turien
Summary: After an attempted assassination of Aragorn, the evidence points to Faramir as the traitor. Aragorn is sure that it could not possibly be him, but the time for investigation is running out, and some of the court may decide to take matters into their own hands. But none of them know that their every action is being watched by a sinister enemy that desires to destroy Gondor forever.
1. Children Are a Gift

_Title: _Dark Illusions

_Summary: After an attempted assassination of Gondor's King, all of the evidence points to Faramir as the traitor. Aragorn is sure that it could not possibly be him, but as he cannot discover an alternative, the time for investigation is running out, and some of the court may decide to take matters into their own hands. But none of them know that their every action is being watched by a sinister enemy, determined to destroy the newly rebuilt kingdom forever.  
_

_Characters: Aragorn and Faramir, but Arwen, Éowyn, little Eldarion, and Faramir's son and daughter will make appearances, along with several others._

_**Rating: PG-13, but it may possibly go up.**_

_**WARNINGS: **__Violence, torment (mental and physical), brief childbirth, some disturbing imagery, sorcery, and treachery. __**Not all warnings apply to all chapters. I will post individual warnings for each chapter. As in all of my stories, this contains no slash, sex, or profanity. **_

_Authour's Note: This is a rewrite of _Secrets Between Friends_ with a totally different plotline. More original, hopefully.I hope you like it better.  
_

_Takes place nine months after the events in _A Tale of Two Rangers._ Prior knowledge of that story is not necessary to read and enjoy this one, but your reading experience could be greatly increased if you did read _A Tale of Two Rangers.

_**WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER: **__Childbirth and guilt. __**Rated K+. **_

_Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings, its characters, and lands, are the property of Tolkien Estates and New Line Cinemas. This story was written for my enjoyment and the enjoyment of others, not for profit._

0o0o0o0

Chapter One- Children are a Gift

_Behold, children are a gift of the LORD; The fruit of the womb is a reward._

_-Psalm 127:3_

0o0o0o0

Faramir, Steward of Gondor and Prince of Ithilien, sat on a bench outside of the Houses of Healing, chewing his fingernails like an anxious child. He would go between sitting and pacing the floor restlessly; anything to quell the anxiety inside of him.

_Arwen was fine_, he thought, _Éowyn will be, too_.

But he simply could not shake the anxiety. This troubled him, for he had a bit of foresight. But when he had questioned Aragorn about it, the King had shaken his head.

"No, Faramir," he had said, "I was the same way."

And so Faramir had tried to convince himself that everything was alright. It was hard, though, being able to hear Éowyn's cries of pain and unable to do anything to help.

"It is perfectly natural for a woman to give birth," Aragorn's voice came from behind him. "Do not worry so much, Faramir." He sat down next to his Steward.

Faramir sighed. "I fear I shall go mad soon!"

Aragorn gave him a squeeze on the shoulder. "I did not. And it probably will not be much longer. Eldarion's birth lasted nearly two days."

Faramir paled. "Two days?" he cried in dismay.

Aragorn laughed. "Don't worry. Hers will most likely not last so long."

Faramir groaned. This could go on for a day and a half more yet?

"You are such a prophet of doom, Aragorn," he shook his head. "Now I am even more agitated."

"Be of good cheer, Faramir," Aragorn sat next to him. "Soon you will know the joy of fatherhood. However, I do believe that childbirth causes the father as much mental anguish as it causes physical pain to the mother."

Faramir gave his King an exasperated look. "You are not helping," he said bluntly, standing and beginning to pace the stone street outside of the Houses of Healing, his step irregular, stumbling every so often on his wounded leg.

Aragorn winced as he watched. It had been over nine months since Faramir was injured like this. And he had not healed. The King turned away, unable to watch his struggles. It was his fault, anyway, that Faramir was handicapped. Faramir had sacrificed himself that Aragorn may go free after they were captured by Calemon and his rebel band.

Eventually, Faramir sat down again, a concerned expression on his face. "Is something wrong?" he asked, his brow knitting.

Aragorn shook his head, "No, Faramir. Nothing is wrong. Nothing at all."

Faramir, who knew he was not telling the truth, under any other circumstances would have persisted, but he did not now, for his mind was too occupied on Éowyn to think any more on Aragorn's strange behavior. He pressed his right hand to his forehead to relieve the headache and stress, and groaned softly.

"I cannot bear this anymore."

"Easy, _mellon-nin_," Aragorn sighed, touching Faramir's temples gently. He moved his fingers in small, light circles over them, barely touching the Steward's head. He felt the tension in Faramir's body release as Faramir's weight leaned against his shoulder. "All will be well."

Faramir gave a shuddering sigh, half of anxiety, and half of pleasure. Aragorn's touch was so gentle, so calming. Faramir had always marvelled at his King's abilities, and, though he did not know it, Aragorn admired his. "I hope so," he murmured.

"Nay, I know that it will be so," Aragorn whispered, his quiet, soothing voice close to Faramir's ear.

0o0o0o0

A few hours passed, and silence descended upon the Houses. Faramir was nearly undone by fear, but Aragorn managed to keep him calm.

Then a new voice broke into the air, then another. The lusty crying of two infants.

Faramir's breathing came hard, and he stumbled to the door just as Ioreth pulled it open.

"Come and meet your daughter and son, Lord Faramir," she said, her aged face smiling at the Steward's distress. It was always this way. It had been this way for Denethor when Boromir and Faramir were born.

Faramir needed no urging, he was instantly inside. He limped over to the bedside, where Éowyn held the infants cradled in her arms, her flushed, sweaty face aglow with happiness.

"Min leof," Éowyn murmurred, her voice weak, but a beaming smile on her face. "Are they not beautiful?"

Faramir's mouth was agape. He awkwardly knelt down and placed his arm around his wife's shoulders, all the while looking at the tiny, fragile lives that he and Éowyn had created.

Éowyn laughed slightly. "You can touch them, Faramir," she chuckled. "They will not break. They are not made of glass."

Faramir flushed, slightly embarassed.

"Hold your son," Éowyn sat up with an effort and proffered one of the infants for Faramir to take.

Tentatively, the Steward took the bundle from his wife, and pushed back the sheet that covered the child's face. He was fair-skinned, with a shock of dark hair on the top of his head. He wriggled slightly, and a gurgle escaped his mouth. Faramir stared in awe, then grinned, turning back to Éowyn. "He is beautiful."

Éowyn laughed. "I do not think he would like to hear you say that. He would most likely prefer to be called handsome," She hid a girlish giggle as she saw Faramir blush. He was always so handsome when he did. "What do you think we should name him?"

"I do not know," Faramir sat on the bed next to her, his shoulder beginning to ache. "You should choose."

Éowyn shook her head. "He is your heir, Faramir. You decide."

Faramir thought about it for a moment. "Elboron," he decided, "For my brother."

Éowyn nodded, smiling sadly, knowing Faramir's pain. She too knew what it felt like to lose one who was nearly a brother to her. "I think he would like that," she said, softly.

Faramir nodded. "As do I. I wonder if he sees me now."

Just then, Elboron began to cry, and Faramir handed him back to Éowyn.

Éowyn soothed him, singing softly in Rohirric. Eventually, he quieted. "Sleep now, little Elboron," she whispered, kissing the infant's forehead gently. "Faramir, would you lay him in his cradle, please?"

Faramir nodded, once again taking his son and placing him gently into the small cradle next to Éowyn's bed. He smiled at him once more before returning to Éowyn, who held out the other child to him.

Faramir took her, once again amazed by how tiny and perfect she was. "You name her, Wynnie," he whispered. The little girl looked almost exactly like her brother, but her features were more delicate.

He turned to Éowyn, then smiled. She had fallen asleep, exhausted by the birth, which had lasted nearly eighteen hours. Suddenly, a yelp of pain escaped his lips. He looked down to see that his daughter's grey eyes, the mirror image of Éowyn's, had opened, and she had one tiny fist curled around a lock of Faramir's hair, and was tugging at it.

A short laugh came from the doorway.

Faramir turned as he gently tried to untangle his daughter's fingers from his hair, his face tight. "You were not invited to come in, Aragorn," he said, his voice accusatory, but his manner friendly.

"Well, I offer my most humble apologies. May I come in?"

Finally freeing the last bits of his hair, Faramir rolled his eyes. "You do not need to ask, Sire, for you are already here. But, yes, you can come and meet my children."

Éowyn began to stir. "What did you say, 'Mir?" she asked, blinking her eyes open. She was slightly surprised to see the King there. "Aragorn," she smiled. "I did not know you were here."

"Forgive me for intruding, lady," Aragorn dipped his head. "But I wished to see if Faramir's reaction was akin to mine when Eldarion was born."

"And was it?" Éowyn asked, her eyes glimmering with amusement.

Aragorn laughed softly. "Yes, and two times over. I never thought a man could go from perfectly agitated to perfectly overjoyed so quickly."

Éowyn smiled. "Was it so bad out there?" she asked, "You would think that the men were the ones doing the work, the way they behave," she snorted, then turned to Faramir. "Have you decided on a name for her, love?"

Faramir sighed. His wife was persistant if nothing else. He glanced at her, then at Aragorn.

"With your permission, Sire," he dipped his head, "I would like to name her Arawyn."

Aragorn looked surprised. Then he smiled. "You have my permission, Faramir. My full permission."

Faramir then turned to Éowyn. "Do you like that name?" he asked.

Éowyn nodded, smiling. "Yes, my love," she whispered as Faramir handed Arawyn to her. "It is a beautiful name."

0o0o0o0

_To Be Continued..._

_A/N: The events mentioned in this chapter took place in _A Tale of Two Rangers_. _

_Faramir's shoulder wound is from the Southron dart with which he was wounded on the Pelennor in _The Return of the King _by J.R.R. Tolkien. _

0o0o0o0

_My thanks to all who read this, I hope you enjoy this story as much or even more than the last one!_

_Novaer, mellyn-nin,_

_-Lúthien_


	2. Of Relaxation and Impending Doom

_Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings, its characters, and lands, are the property of Tolkien Estates and New Line Cinemas. This story was not written for profit, but for my enjoyment and the enjoyment of others._

_**WARNINGS: None for this chapter. Rated K.**_

Chapter Two— Of Relaxation and Impending Doom

A fresh, stiff breeze blew out across the Pelennor fields. The day was overcast and cooler; a welcome relief from the heat of mid-August that had plagued the White City and her inhabitants for over a week now without relenting. There even seemed to be the slightest scent of rain on the air.

A thundering could be heard on the ground, growing louder and louder, until a pair of horses, one fiery chestnut, the other dark bay, raced past, neck to neck, both straining to get the leading place.

Aragorn twisted sharply in the saddle, and Roheryn responded instantly, making a turn and heading back to the city.

Faramir looked over his shoulder, seeing that Aragorn had already turned.

"Not yet!" he cried, "We weren't supposed to loop around until that rise over there!"

Aragorn flashed him a mischievous grin. "I am the King!" he shouted, as Faramir brought Feanor up behind him, "I can change the rules!"

Faramir groaned, leaning forward and releasing all pressure on his horse's reins, asking for another burst of speed.

Feanor lengthened his stride, but Roheryn was yet swifter than he, and bred for more endurance. There was little that he could do to catch up to Aragorn now.

A while before the city gates, Aragorn leaned back in the saddle, relaxing. Roheryn slowed his pace to a canter, then a trot, and then finally to an easy walk.

Faramir took the hint and slowed his horse as well. Feanor tossed his head, caught up in the excitement, and Faramir calmed the boisterous horse down. Soon he had also settled into a walk beside his King.

Aragorn, still breathing heavily, turned to him and grinned, clapping him on the shoulder.

"You've improved, Faramir," he said, "But I am afraid that I still beat you soundly."

Faramir snorted in mock indignation.

"'Twas only because you cheated," he retorted, putting on a serious face, though a glimmer of amusement was in his eyes.

"Me?" Aragorn asked incredulously, "Cheat? I think not. I merely blazed a new trail."

Faramir rolled his eyes.

"You are impossible!"

Aragorn grinned at this.

Faramir shook his head, releasing the reins to allow Feanor to crop at the lush grass. He winced a little as the horse stumbled and stopped, jarring his injured leg.

Aragorn frowned. He'd noticed the brief instant of pain that had crossed Faramir's face.

"How is your wound?" he asked.

Faramir turned to look at him. "Better, I think," he said, "It still hurts, but I think it has begun to heal. The exertion is doing some good for it, I think."

Aragorn nodded, smiling a bit. He'd been inviting his Steward on rides for this very reason. To strengthen the muscles in his wounded leg. He knew that, with an older, stiff wound like this, it was best to work it. Then it may have a chance of healing better.

"That is good," he said. "And your shoulder?"

Faramir shrugged it. "Stiff," he announced," But not really painful."

Aragorn nodded again. "Good. Perhaps getting you outside has done you some good," he teased.

Faramir smiled. He'd spent every moment, when he was not working, with Eowyn and his children for the past month. He missed the fresh air, yes, but he'd wanted to spend time with his family.

_Which is perfectly natural_, Aragorn- who couldn't get enough time with his own- thought to himself.

"Shall we return?" Faramir asked.

Aragorn nodded. "I think Roheryn and Feanor would appreciate a rest," he agreed.

They turned their mounts toward the city gates.

0o0o0o0

Arwen and Eowyn watched them approach from the balcony. Both were thinking the same thing.

"It is so good to see them being friends," Eowyn spoke first.

Arwen nodded in agreement. "I suppose, in a way, that venture was what they needed."

Eowyn sighed, "Though it did cost a lot. Faramir still struggles with his injured leg. Though I am infinitely glad that I still have him."

"How does he cope with it?" the Queen asked, "I haven't noticed that he is upset at all by it."

Eowyn shook her head. "No, not at all," she said, "He never mentions it. Of course, it is most likely akin to many other things. Faramir knows that he must just accept some things as a part of life."

Arwen nodded slowly. "Estel told me that he is trying everything he can," she said, "But nothing seems to heal him completely."

"Tell him he shouldn't worry," Eowyn touched her shoulder. "Faramir is infinitely grateful to Aragorn that he yet has his life. He may care about his leg, but not enough to cause me worry. In fact, I think he is more well now than before."

Arwen smiled. "I will remember that."

0o0o0o0

Aragorn ran the currycomb over Roheryn's withers, sighing in pleasure. He always groomed his own horse after a ride. It was simply habit, and now that he was King it would not change. He enjoyed the task, actually, and Roheryn did as well. Aragorn had had him since he was a colt, a gift from Arwen, and a strong bond had developed between horse and master.

Faramir, too, had chosen to groom Feanor, and Aragorn could hear his Steward's chuckle from across the aisle, followed by, "Stop that, Fei! I'll soon be bald between you and the twins!"

Aragorn shook his head. Faramir's horse was spirited, to say the least. Naughty would most likely be more correct. But he always obeyed Faramir's commands, though he may seem to be a green-broke yearling rather than a ten-year-old former warhorse.

"Having trouble?" he called over, cheerfully.

Faramir's head appeared over the stall door. "No," he said, "Feanor is just being himself."

He was grinning, and a spot of his windblown dark hair was tangled and sticking out in all directions where Feanor had been nuzzling it. He was dusty, with smears of dirt and horsehair across his brow where he'd wiped the sweat off with his hand.

Aragorn grinned back, knowing that he most likely did not look much better.

But it was so much nicer to be relaxed like this than to endure the rigors of court.

Faramir backed out of the stall and sat down on a barrel, drawing a small, silver-hilted dagger from his boot. He weighted it in his hand, twirling it a few times, before replacing it. After their ordeal in Ithilien, Faramir always kept the boot dagger with him. Just in case, on some occasion in the future, he may need it.

Aragorn gave Roheryn a final pat on the shoulder before exiting the stall.

"It is good to do things like that," he said, nodding in the general direction of the fields.

Faramir smiled. "Yes," he said, "'tis much nicer than all of the formality attached to ruling the land."

He leaned back against a stall door, closing his eyes.

"But I suppose that has its place as well," he said, "Beginning next week."

Aragorn grimaced. The Great Council was meeting again, as it did once a year, to determine important matters. Sure, there were other councils during the year, but none as important as this.

_Or as burdensome_, Aragorn thought ruefully.

He despised this council, which usually turned into a series of petty arguments between the various lords of Gondor. And it was tedious as well, for him especially, because the atmosphere was a combination of looking up to him and, because he had only recently taken up his position as King, watching him. Both to learn of his ways, and, for some of them, he knew, though they would never admit it to his face, to find fault in him.

Of course, he couldn't blame them. After being ruled by the Stewards for hundreds of years, it was entirely new to Gondor's people to be ruled by a King. Many of them had rejoiced, but there were a few that were a little unsure of this Northerner who had come and taken his place on the throne.

"Yes," he said, "The Great Council. More like a Great Bother."

Faramir was nodding, sharing his King's opinion on the Council.

"Yes, but it must be done. If only there were less arguing and more intelligent debate."

Aragorn turned to him. Faramir had grown up in the court, and was most likely far more used to it than he. Also, Faramir was a scholar, well-versed in all matters concerning Gondor, and many other things as well. He knew that Faramir could be rather fond of debate, just so long as it was logical.

"I should wish that you would head the council," he said, "You are most certainly the more intellectual of us two."

Faramir laughed at the mere possibility. "I? Head a Council?" he asked, "I should think not. I do not wish for that position of authority. Besides, as King, the task falls automatically to you."

Aragorn shrugged.

"It never hurts to ask," he said.

Faramir chuckled, rising to his feet. "Come," he laughed. "I am sure Arwen and Eowyn are awaiting our return. And then we have the Council to prepare for."

Aragorn gave him a look, but rose and followed him out anyway.

"You do not need to bring that up prematurely."

0o0o0o0

_To Be Continued…_

_A/N: I hope this'll be better. More original at least._

_No review replies, cause I lost track of them. _

_No question, because I can't think of any more._

_And I think that's it for now. _

_Novaer!_

_~Luthien~_


	3. Family, Friends, & Unfortunate Arrivals

_Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings, its characters, and lands, are the property of Tolkien Estates and New Line Cinemas. This story was not written for profit, but for my enjoyment and the enjoyment of others._

_**WARNINGS: None for this chapter. Rated K.**_

Chapter Three— Family, Friends, and Unfortunate Arrivals

…

The tribulations began but three days later, as the members of the Great Council began to arrive from all corners of the Kingdom. Some of which, Aragorn and Faramir remembered from last year, were naught but a bother, wealthy men seeking only for their own gain, but others were a welcome addition.

One such addition came in the form of Imrahil. The Prince of Dol Amroth arrived four days before the Council began. Faramir had greeted his uncle happily, and Imrahil was no less glad to see his nephew.

"Please," Faramir invited, "Come have supper with Eowyn and I. I should love to have you meet our children."

Imrahil smiled, embracing the Steward warmly. "I would love to," he said.

Imrahil recalled a day, not so long ago, when Faramir was young, only in his teens. He'd come to visit Dol Amroth, and the welcome had been much the same; except that now Faramir reached his uncle's height, and had unexpectedly taken his father's position as Steward.

So much had changed since then…

_I am getting old,_ Imrahil thought to himself, smiling at the thought. Here was his nephew, grown up and with massive responsibilities.

He sighed knowing that he could never look at Faramir without thinking of the child who had become nearly a son to him during that visit. Had Faramir stayed longer, he would have perhaps become the strong father figure that the boy lacked in his own father. But Dol Amroth was far from the White City, and that visit was one of a very few.

Not that his brother in law was a bad father, only his duties kept him busy much of the time, and most of the rest of his time he spent with his heir. It was not until the later years when Faramir had been completely shunned.

Faramir limped steadily toward their chambers.

Imrahil frowned. "What happened?" he asked, noticing the younger man's limp.

Faramir turned, a puzzled expression on his face, and Imrahil gestured at his leg.

"Ah, that," he said, "Well, it is a long tale. And a weary one as well. For now, suffice it to say that my leg was broken, and it never properly healed. But it is getting better, I think."

Imrahil gave a quiet snort. If this was better, he wondered what it had been like before.

"Should you not be resting it?" he asked.

Faramir shook his head. "If I rest it, it only stiffens. At least now I can move without a crutch."

Imrahil said nothing. He merely followed his nephew into the house.

Eowyn met them. "Prince Imrahil!" she cried, "What a pleasant surprise."

Imrahil gave her a smile, dipping his head. "Always a pleasure to see you, Lady."

Eowyn turned to Faramir. "I've just put the little ones down for their nap," she said. "Why don't you and Prince Imrahil take some time to catch up on things? I have some things to do, and I must tell the servants to prepare supper."

She left, dipping into a curtsey as she did.

Faramir smiled and shook his head. "She has been busy lately," he explained, "Very busy. Of course, as a mother to two little ones at once, I suppose it is all to be expected."

Imrahil nodded. "Yes, it is," he said. "I cannot wait to see them."

Faramir sat down, leaning back.

"Now, I suppose, I can tell you a little of what happened," he said.

Imrahil gestured for him to go on, and he began to tell about his and Aragorn's venture to Ithilien and their subsequent kidnapping.

When he had finished, Imrahil raised his eyebrows.

"You are very lucky," he said, "that you survived."

Faramir nodded. "And I am grateful. You see, I am not too upset about my crippling. I am only thankful that I'm alive, and with Eowyn and my son and daughter."

Eowyn's head appeared in the doorway.

"Do either of you have any preferences for supper?" she asked.

Faramir grinned broadly. "I do not," he said, "Whatever you wish will be fine."

Eowyn sighed. "I don't know what to do!"

"Be calm, my dear," Faramir chuckled, "It is not as if we are as picky as some of those noblemen."

Eowyn smiled. "I know. I suppose that everything is a bit hectic now."

She sat down next to him, gripping one of his hands, entwining her fingers in his.

"I suppose I can rest awhile, if only to be with you, _min leof._"

Faramir leaned his shoulder against her's. Oh, he loved her so much.

"I think I would like that better than supper," he murmured.

0o0o0

Supper did come, with no further worries, and it turned out to be a pleasant affair.

Elboron and Arawyn remained asleep throughout most of the meal, and after they had awoken, Eowyn and Faramir brought them out to so that Imrahil might meet them. The aging Prince was delighted with his great-niece and nephew, even when Elboron managed to get a hold of a lock of his hair.

Faramir laughed, and told him, "That simply proves my theory that he is fond of Numenorean hair."

He gently untangled his son's fingers from Imrahil's hair, and took him.

"He has done it to me several times," he said, "And also to Arag—I mean, King Elessar."

He smiled, cradling Elboron gently in his arms.

Imrahil had to grin at Faramir's use of Aragorn's given name.

"So, then," he asked him, "Have you and the King become confidants?"

Faramir looked up.

"Oh, yes," he told him, "And more. I think I may go as far as to say friends."

"Ah, indeed," Imrahil smiled, "Well, that is good. Better to be friends than enemies."

Faramir nodded in agreement.

"And it is good to have one," he said, "I must admit, sometimes I forget that he is King and I am Steward, and it is as if we are merely a pair of rangers and retired warriors, riding and having a good time. But this Council should serve to make us remember our places."

Imrahil nodded, noticing the way Faramir grimaced at the mention of the Council. He smiled.

"It shan't be that bad," he said, "It only lasts for three weeks."

Faramir groaned. "Three long weeks."

Imrahil grinned. "Yes, but then it shall be over."

Faramir nodded, "I suppose you are right. Anyway, let us get onto a happier subject. How are things in Dol Amroth?"

Imrahil shrugged. "Not much has changed."

"How is Lothiriel?" Eowyn asked. She'd become friends with Faramir's cousin last year, when a few of Imrahil's children had accompanied him to Minas Tirith.

"Well," Imrahil replied with a smile.

Before anything more could be spoken of, a sharp knock at the door drew them out of their conversation.

Faramir sighed, handing Elboron to Imrahil.

"Would you please hold him while I see what this is about?" he asked, making his way to the door.

He opened it, and his face softened to see Bergil, Beregond's son.

"Yes?" he asked.

Bergil was red-faced, and grinning.

"The King told me to fetch you. He told me to ask you 'where you were, and if you were deliberately leaving him to deal with his own personal bane.'"

Faramir grimaced. "That'll be the council members."

He turned back to the others.

"I'm terribly sorry, but I think I must go," he said, "I should not want to leave my King in this state."

Both Eowyn and Imrahil smiled at this.

"You go," Eowyn said, "We'll manage fine for the moment."

Faramir dipped his head apologetically.

"I'll be back soon, I hope," he said.

Then he turned and left with Bergil.

0o0o0o0

Faramir and Aragorn greeted the various dignitaries who arrived, and managed to get them all shown to their guest rooms. It was only proper for the King to greet them as they arrived, and, naturally, he wanted Faramir at his side. Faramir could not object, except for the lofty, haughty nature of some of the nobles.

It seemed forever, but at last the day's arrivals stopped coming.

King and Steward relaxed in the gardens that evening, talking with each other about virtually everything that came to mind.

It was the kind of laid back, informal time that Faramir enjoyed. He'd had precious little of it before Aragorn became King, and he relished every minute of it.

The moon had risen by the time they retired, and Faramir slipped into bed next to Eowyn, a smile on his face.

She put her arms around his neck, and he held her close. Soon after, they fell soundly asleep, all thoughts of councils erased from Faramir's mind.

0o0o0o0

_To Be Continued…_

_A/N: So, how did you like it? _

_Please tell me if I should change something, add something, revise something… etc._

_We should start getting into the action next chapter. _

_The events that occurred in Ithilien that were mentioned in this chapter happened in A Tale of Two Rangers. _

_Faramir's visit to Dol Amroth as a teenager will be elaborated on in a future story that I'll write._

_And now I'll start doing these again…_

_**REVIEW REPLIES**_

**Guest—**Thanks. I've totally changed the entire plot. I hope it's better this way.

**Nimrodiel—**Quite possible, quite possible indeed. Actually, definite. But there'll be no revealing who is doing it, who his/her accomplices are, etc. It's a bit of a mystery/crime solving story as well. Do you think this is improved on the way I had it before? I think so.

0o0o0o0

_And, farewell for now. _

_I'll get the next chapter up when I can. No definite time or date, but I'll get it up when I get enough time and inspiration to write it._

_Novaer,_

_Luthien_


	4. The Dagger with the Silver Hilt

_Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings, its characters, and lands, are the property of Tolkien Estates and New Line Cinemas. This story was not written for profit, but for my enjoyment and the enjoyment of others._

_**WARNINGS: Some peril. Rated K.**_

Chapter Four— The Dagger with the Silver Hilt

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The Council Chamber was fairly buzzing as the various nobles arrived and took their seats for the first session.

Aragorn sighed, leaning back in his seat. In truth, he was rather vexed at all of this. The day's council would involve the lords each giving a report on the taxes of their respective provinces, and Aragorn quite frankly did not much care about them.

_Yet one more thing that I needed not worry about when I was a simple ranger,_ he thought ruefully.

He glanced out over the room. Not yet everyone had arrived, and the nobles were passing the time by conversing with one another, sometimes quite heatedly, he noted.

His eyes met Faramir's. The Steward seemed calm and at ease, relaxed even, though there was always that formality that accompanied all of his court doings.

_Faramir is very good at hiding his true feelings,_ he thought. _Either that or he is simply unperturbed._

Though Aragorn doubted very much that anyone could be unperturbed by such a thing as the Great Council of Gondor.

The last of the nobles arrived in the Council Hall.

_At last..._ Aragorn sighed in relief. Now at least they could get this over with.

He began to speak, and the noise quieted.

"Lords of Gondor," he began, "I am honored to begin the second Great Council of the Reunited Kingdom of Gondor and Arnor."

After that, he recognized each of the visiting dignitaries who had come, each dipping his head as his name was announced, and a few, Faramir and Imrahil to be exact, rewarding him with a slight smile.

After introductions had finished, the various lords came forward to give a report on the general status of their lands, including the tax return, the number of men-at-arms, and any other information that they wished to share.

Aragorn listened to each of them, taking note of the fact that things in Gondor seemed to be looking up already since the war. He'd made reasonable progress in repairing the cities and villages that had been destroyed and raided during the war, and, from what he could tell, the majority of the people seemed to be content.

As in every council the King had participated in, petty disputes rose up as the day progressed, most of which were solved quickly and easily.

By the time the session was over, though, Aragorn was quite sure that everyone was as ready as he was for it to be so.

He didn't see Faramir after the council, but he was quite sure of where he had gone—doubtless, back to his chambers to be with his family, which Aragorn fully understood.

He opened the door to his own suite, shut it, and went into his bedroom to unlace his heavy robes of office.

He gave a small sigh of relief as he sat down on his couch, closing his eyes.

"How did you fare today?" Arwen asked him, seemingly to come out of nowhere.

"Adada!" Eldarion cried, stretching his chubby hands out to his father.

Aragorn grinned, standing and taking his son in his arms.

"Well enough," he said in answer to Arwen's inquiry. "Not too bad, considering we have not begun the more difficult businesses. Today was merely for reports and the like, so there were not many arguments."

He smiled as Eldarion nestled into his father's shoulder, a bright smile across his little face.

Arwen leaned her head on his shoulder. "Well, I suppose that is a good thing, then."

He nodded, leaning back and closing his eyes. The problems of the council could wait until tomorrow. All that mattered right now was his family. Him, Arwen, and Eldarion. Let the monotony wait for another day. He was content with the way things were right now.

A knock on the door to their antechamber brought him out of his pleasant musings. He stood up, placing a squirming, wriggling Eldarion into Arwen's arms.

"I will answer that," he nodded in the direction of the door, "And then we will pass the time until supper is brought up."

He crossed the floor and passed into the antechamber. He knew not what it was or why, but a deep, dark foreboding settled itself in the pit of his stomach, and his hand strayed to the hilt of the dagger which hung in its scabbard at his waist. He knew not to ignore forebodings. Sometimes they were of no consequence, but other times they were the fruit of his foresighted heritage showing itself.

Slowly, he placed his other hand on the door handle, sliding the dagger partway out of its sheath as he did so. He pulled open the door with all of his muscles tense and ready to react to any possible attack.

And it was a good thing he had. Not knowing why, his instincts acting for him, he ducked down as he opened the door. Perhaps he'd heard the faint singing of steel against leather, or out of the corner of his eye seen his attacker move; he did not know. But as soon as he'd ducked, he heard a whistle of a steel blade flashing over his head.

Instantly his own dagger was freed from its sheath and he managed to block the next cut.

The attacker pressed forward into his antechamber, and they fought, Aragorn noting that he could not see who the man was, as he had a cloak with the cowl drawn deep over his face. He desperately fought, and, at last, managed to wrench the other man's blade from his fingers, sending it flying across the room.

The attacker, seeing that he was disarmed, turned and fled before Aragorn could grasp him by the collar or run him through to find out who he was.

The King of Gondor shut the door behind him, latching it firmly, leaning against it, and breathing heavily.

The door to their chambers opened, and Arwen came out, Eldarion having wrapped his arms around her neck, crying and afraid because of the noise from the fight.

Arwen was white faced. "What happened, Estel?" she asked, her voice pitched higher than normal due to anxiety.

Aragorn turned to her, catching his breath before saying, "Someone just tried to kill me."

Arwen hurried to his side. "Are you hurt, mela-nin?" she asked. Her eyes met his, full of care. Honest, true care that he was not injured. It was one of the things he liked so much about her. How she really, truly cared so deeply about him. He'd met a lot of people that didn't truly care, and some that did, but none that he could practically feel their care like hers.

He shook his head, managing a slight, reassuring smile that reached no further than his lips. "No. I am well."

He left the door and walked across the room to find the assassin's dagger.

As he picked it up from the ground, his heart sank.

There was no mistaking the silver-hilted dagger with the elegant vines carved into the hilt, wrapping around it, and the tengwar inscribed along its blade.

It was Faramir's.

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_To Be Continued..._

_A/N: Ba-da-da-dum... Cliffhanger!_

_Well, at least I got this done! I've been extremely busy, and writing council scenes are the hardest thing ever for me. But at least I got you another chapter. The next one should be up before mid-September at the latest. No promises, just an estimated time. The next council scene should be easier, since rumors about the attempted assassination would have reached the other nobles and they'd have something to talk about besides general council things._

_An-y-way... _

_I think that's it for notes._

_**REVIEW RESPONSES**_

**Lindahoyland—**Thanks! I've tried to make it a bit less informal this chapter. Now that you mention it, that most likely would be true. And I couldn't quite remember just how many children he had.

**LadyofAnfalas—**I'm glad you like it. I don't think the rating will go up, but if it does, I'll do that.

_**0o0o0o0**_

_I'll be back soon!_

_Novaer,_

_Luthien_


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